


Once A Queen

by queerhazeleyes



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Ace Edmund Pevensie, Asexual Character, F/M, Rites of Passage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2694221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerhazeleyes/pseuds/queerhazeleyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In every culture, there are a series of 'firsts', various rites of passage, that signal an individual's transition from child to adult. But Susan came of age not once, but twice - first in Narnia, then again upon her return to England. And as a result, each of those 'firsts' came about twice, in very different ways.</p><p>Alternately titled "The times and ways in which Susan became an adult"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood

Imagine Susan as a young queen. She was there during the battle against the White Witch, armed with her bow and arrows from Father Christmas. She killed that day, and has since—the Witch’s followers did not stop fighting when their leader fell, there were skirmishes for years after the Pevensies took their thrones. To the lands around Narnia, boys were considered men when they drew an enemy’s blood; girls became women when they shed their own. By that reckoning, Susan grew into adulthood twice her first year inside the wardrobe.

*****

Her first year back in England when she went through puberty again, Susan couldn’t stop laughing. It was like life was playing a huge joke on her; as though losing her kingdom, her friends, a lifetime of firsts (and seconds, and lasts) wasn’t enough, she had to do all this over again.


	2. Dance

The ball was in honor of the fifth year of their reign. Nobility and diplomats from all over were at Cair Paravel for the occasion and Susan was ecstatic. There was so much to do, of course, organizing the banquet, ensuring all their guests were satisfied with the sleeping arrangements, handling the inevitable cascade of disasters, but Susan was a natural. She soothed egos, charmed her way out of confrontations and only once had to escape to an empty room to compose herself.

When the banquet finished and the band took up their instruments, the four monarchs opened the dancing: Peter with Susan and Edmund with Lucy. The dance was probably more jovial than was appropriate, but Susan caught sight of her sister’s smiling face as they twirled about and she knew it was the perfect choice for them. The song left both Queens breathless, their brothers not far behind, and when the music ended they bowed in unison to their guests. Lucy immediately took the hand of Mr Tumnus as another song began and Peter conned a shy dryad into dancing, leaving Edmund and Susan to retreat to their thrones and recover themselves.

That didn’t last long. While Lucy danced from partner to partner (mostly Narnians; her energy and enthusiasm seemed to overwhelm their foreign visitors) and Peter smiled and bowed to seemingly every young lady in the room, Edmund and Susan watched with contentment. But no more than three dances had passed before a strapping young man from Archenland bowed low before Susan and asked for a dance (Later that night Edmund would insist that it was only the intimidation of approaching the thrones that took him so long to begin with). Susan accepted with a smile and allowed herself to be led back to the dance floor. The song was more sedate than those previous, probably to appeal to their visitors, and Susan mentally calculated the propriety of the situation. The quick Narnian reels and jigs were all so platonic—if lively—and this was a different thing entirely. Susan continued to worry through the first few steps until she spotted Edmund dancing with another of their guests. She relaxed into her partner’s arms immediately; as long as her siblings were within reach, she knew she would be fine. 

Her partner proved a perfect gentleman, leading her gently through the steps, arm firm around her waist, his other hand clasping her own loosely. They chatted about the glorious weather, the beauty of the palace and his place in King Lune’s court until the music slowed to an close. Susan was surprised to find herself back at the foot of the dais, where they had started, and looked up to see her partner smiling in satisfaction.

“Thank you for the dance, your Majesty,” he said with a small bow.

“Thank you,” she replied, curtsying in turn. He stepped away, and Susan found she had no shortage of partners for the remainder of the night.

***

Her siblings weren’t there—Edmund and Lucy at Cousin Eustace’s, Peter studying with Professor Kirke in his little country house—when Susan first danced outside of Narnia. In America with their parents, there was an endless array of dances as soldiers on leave or preparing to deploy sought out whatever gaiety they could find. She felt painfully young among the crowd in a way that still seemed wrong to someone who’d been to soldiers’ funerals in two worlds, and Susan compensated by applying her makeup painstakingly, hiking her skirt a little higher and taking care not to smudge the drawn-on seam that ran down the back of each of her legs. Perched on the edge of her chair at the first dance she’d been allowed to attend (and that rankled, too, though she knew it shouldn’t, needing permission from her mother to go out) it was only the memory of Narnia that kept her smile serene rather than desperate when men walked past her without a second glance, and even that barely saved her when, finally, she was finally invited onto the floor by a nervous-looking boy in Army green. 

The music blared with saxophones beneath the sultry voice of the woman at the microphone, and the soldier kept losing the beat. Twice he nearly trod on Susan’s feet, and when he pulled her back in after a clumsy spin his hand landed too low on her hip. Susan dropped her own hold on her partner’s waist to correct it, and told herself that this was good, that Aslan had sent her back to this world so this must be where she belonged, and it was no use yearning for what she could no longer have. Her smile was stiff by the time the number ended, and when he asked her name, “Phyllis” came out without conscious thought.


	3. Travel

Susan stood at the rail of the ship, enjoying the splash of sea spray against her face and ankles. Upon setting foot onboard, she and Lucy had set aside their dresses for more practical trousers. The first mate stepped up alongside Susan. He was tanned and scarred, old enough to be the Pevensie’s father but he didn’t treat them as children, even on their first meeting. He smiled down at Susan. “We have a good ship and a good wind,” he said almost absently. “If it holds, we should deliver your majesties to the Lone Islands in short order.”

“Peter will be happy to hear that,” she replied. 

“Where is His Majesty?” he asked. “I don’t believe I’ve seen him since we left port yesterday morning.” 

“In his cabin. I’m afraid sailing doesn’t agree with him.” Susan had to restrain a laugh. It wasn’t funny, really; Peter was miserably seasick and not even Lucy’s cordial had helped, nor the ginger tea sent by the galley master.

“A shame. It seems to agree with the rest of you readily enough.” 

Susan turned her back on the water to look out over the deck. Lucy was already up in the riggings, demanding to be shown everything on the ship. Edmund had little more dignity, standing beside the captain and asking question after question. She smiled at it all. “It is an adventure. We haven’t had one of those since we were crowned.”

***

Susan thought back on that trip and the many that followed when she traveled to America with her parents. No friendly sailors happened along to make conversation with young Miss Pevensie as they had with Queen Susan. She spent the first two days in the little cabin she shared with her parents, who thought her seasick, but what she was was heartsick. This massive ocean liner did not rock with the waves, did not creak with the movement of rope and wood, did not ring with the laughter of sailors and siblings. It was the first time Susan had sailed without one of her brothers or her sister; since Narnia it was the first time she hadn’t had at leas one of them to sit with, to speak with.

The third morning Susan dried her tears, washed her face and walked onto the deck. She smiled as the wind whipped her skirt around her ankles and banished thoughts of breeches, of climbing to the crow’s nest hoping for the first sight of Cair Paravel.


	4. Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads-up, this is the first instance in which the England half takes place after The Last Battle, so Susan is alone after her family's deaths.

“Oh, someday. I’m not in a rush.” Susan laid back to stare at the stars. Edmund lay beside her; it was a warm summer’s night in Cair Paravel. Lucy had gone off to stay with Mr. Tumnus until the heat wave passed, and Peter was in King Lune’s court for another three weeks, which meant the two middle siblings were left to hold Cair Paravel, and to sleep on the roof where cool breezes came from the sea. “Marriage is a long way off for any of us, I would think,” she went on. “After all, we’ve got Narnia to rule.” Susan twisted her head around to peer through the darkness at her brother. “Are you thinking of marrying, Ed?”

Edmund laughed softly. “No, not me. Rather leave that to you and Peter.” They lapsed into silence for a while, just watching wispy clouds roll across the sky. Edmund broke the silence with another question. “Do you ever think of who will rule Narnia after us?”

A beat. “What do you mean?”

Edmund sat up on one elbow. “When you all have children. Will Narnia go to Peter’s eldest, or just to whoever is oldest of our kids? Or the four eldest?”

Susan mirrored his pose and frowned. “I don’t know. Whoever wants to, I suppose. Oldest doesn’t make someone best suited, really. I mean, if Peter were on his own we’d be in some trouble, wouldn’t we?” She giggled. “Besides, between the four of—”

“Three of you,” Edmund corrected her.

Susan raised an eyebrow but repeated dutifully, “the three of us, we’ll have enough heirs that no one who doesn’t want the throne will have to take it.” She laid back down and, beside her, heard Edmund do the same. “Hey, Ed?” she said after a while.

“Yeah?”

“You know that I love you no matter what?”

“I know.”

“And if you ever fell in love, it wouldn’t matter who they were? Or if you didn't, so long as you're happy.”

An owl hooted nearby. “I know, Su.”

“Good.”

***

“Susan?”

Susan turned away from the window back to face her coworkers, who were all looking at her expectantly. “Hmm? I’m sorry, I must have been daydreaming.” Daydreaming wasn’t precisely accurate; the way the wind was blowing through the trees outside the cafe reminded Susan of dryads, which always made her think of Peter dancing at their first ball.

Mary smiled. “We were just saying how Judy, from upstairs, has her last day next Friday.”

“She’s leaving?” Susan asked, trying to remember which one Judy was. “Why’s she leaving?”

“She’s having her first kid in a couple months,” said Rachel, one of the girls about Susan’s age. “She needs some time to finish setting up her nursery.”

“Oh, of course.” Susan faked a laugh, as if to say, ‘silly me, how could I forget?’

“We must have a party to say goodbye,” Mary continued. “After all, we won’t see much of her once she’s gone.”

“Won’t she be coming back?” Susan asked.

“Why would she?” replied Rachel. “She’ll have her family to take care of. You won’t want you leave your children and keep working once you start your family, would you?”

“I—” She stopped herself. She had been about to say ‘I think it’s a few years until I have to worry about that.’ It had been her answer for decades (though it wasn’t decades really, only a few years here in the world outside the wardrobe), only it was no longer true. Most people her age were getting married; some of her friends even had children. Nor could she foist the question off on Peter as she once had, insisting the eldest should wed first. Peter was no longer here, would never be here, would never marry; neither would any of the others. With a start, Susan realized there were tears in her eyes and her coworkers were staring at her. She cleared her throat and blinked rapidly. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” she finally lied.


End file.
